


A Glittering Path

by paranoid_fridge



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 4+1 thing, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Schmoop, Yurio, also featuring, as well as several other familiar faces, crying (from happiness), the entire russian skating squad, yakov - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 07:51:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9312344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paranoid_fridge/pseuds/paranoid_fridge
Summary: Four times Yuuri made Viktor cry (happy tears, that is!), and one time (or more) they both cried (You're allowed to cry at a wedding, aren't you? Especially if it's your own.)Featuring: vows witnessed by Barcelona's giant lobster statue, bedroom shenanigans, a proposal, and the schedule of St Petersburg's bridge openings. Also a proposal and a wedding.





	

**Author's Note:**

> There's one explicit scene in this thing. If that's not your cup of tea, skip #2. Everything else is schmoop and fluff.

#0

“Stop crying,” Yuuri giggles as he wipes furiously at his own eyes. Viktor sniffles and laughs at the same time, resulting in a very odd noise that luckily is drowned out by the speech given on the other side of the ornate door.

“You stop crying,” Viktor returns cheerfully, but hands a tissue to Yuuri. Their hands brushing against each other make both of them halt; electricity dances down Yuuri’s spine. He can’t believe it, can’t believe today is really happening.

Then Viktor sniffs again, and they both burst out giggling like schoolboys. And Yuuri feels a fresh wave of tears spill from his eyes.

“Stop making me,” he challenges, voice hitching. He dabs the tears from his cheeks, though it’s probably a lost cause.

Viktor snorts. “I think you’ll find it’s the other way around.”

#1

Indeed, in hindsight Yuuri has probably made Viktor cry more often in their relationship so far. The first time in particular wasn’t a great moment - really, confessing his intention to retire in the middle of a major competition - and Yuuri can’t claim to have handled the aftermath very well either.

Viktor did look surprisingly pretty, though. Faintly red-rimmed eyes, a hint of pain within them, glittering teardrops - and still very much poised and controlled, despite the anger he admitted to. In comparison Yuuri’s own outburst at the Cup of China felt twice as embarrassing.

Then again, it all ended well. Especially since at some point they did sit down and talk about everything.

“I was really surprised,” Yuuri admits, holding his nearly empty beer bottle (the fourth already) close. A cool breeze blows in from the bay, tickles his cheeks. “I hadn’t expected you to start crying then.”

Viktor takes a swig from his own bottle and huffs. “I’m not made from stone, you know. And that hurt. You know, I told you I wish you’d never retire. I still hope you won’t.” He looks out onto the water, where the reflections of the street lights shimmer. The air is cold, and they probably ought to head back to their hotel, but Yuuri feels fine for the moment.

“Yes, sorry,” he apologizes. “I thought … well, you know what I thought.”

“I know,” Viktor confirms and turns away from the water to look at Yuuri with a soft smile. “And it was a kind thing you tried to do - I guess we should really work on our communication.” He chuckles, and Yuuri joins in.

In the distance, the harbor slowly begins to come to live. Though in a city like Barcelona nights never grow as quiet as they do in Hasetsu.

“Yes, especially with the upcoming exhibition,” Yuuri says quietly. A part of him still can’t believe he will be skating it. And competitions after. A part of himself already had resigned himself to retiring, returning to Japan, finding an ordinary job, and maybe giving skating lessons in between. Not an unhappy prospect, but the future that now stretches ahead of him feels so much brighter.

“I promise I won’t yell at you again,” Viktor says with rather put-upon solemnity. “And if you promise you to stop talking about retirement, I won’t talk about resigning.”

Yuuri snorts inelegantly. He’s mostly forgotten about his own outburst at the Cup of China.  

“Actually, yes,” he declares and sets his beer bottle on the ground with the other bottles they’ve emptied. “Let’s promise not to make any foolish announcements, and talk about it first instead!” He holds out his hand, and Viktor glances at him with a faint look of surprise.

“Alright,” Viktor agrees, and shakes Yuuri’s hand.

“Alright,” Yuuri echoes. “That giant lobster statue over there is our witness!”

Viktor promptly bursts out laughing.

#0

“Oh?” Yuuri waggles his eyebrows suavely. “I can’t help it if I’m that good.” After all, since then they’ve shed a lot of more happy tears.

Like right now. Viktor wipes his eyes again, and mutters: “Let’s hope Mila has some make-up at hand. Imagine how the wedding pictures are going to look!”

Yuuri presses a hand to his cheek, mock-scandalized. “Oh dear!”

Then he leans a little closer and drops his voice. “Then again, you do look rather pretty when you cry.”

#2

While their first ventures into sexual intimacy included awkward handjobs, challenging blowjobs (Viktor’s gag reflex is rather sensitive and Yuuri isn’t always conscious where his teeth are going), fumbling, and a lot of research, once they figure things out between them, the sex changes from great to mind-blowing.

“Yuuuu~ri,” Viktor moans with tears clinging to his eyelashes. “Stop teasingggg.”

Trembling fingers bury themselves in Yuuri’s hair, and he can feel the tension vibrating through the body underneath him. Yuuri dots feather-light kisses on the inside of Viktor’s thigh, close and yet so far, and Viktor’s cock twitches.

“Yuuri, plea - hng,” Viktor’s plea is shut off when Yuuri blows a gust of warm air over Viktor’s cock. Viktor’s eyes flutter close, and his back bends, toes curl, and Yuuri grins. “Not yet, Viktor, not yet,” he soothes, trailing a hand up Viktor chest as he shifts his weight.

Viktor’s chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, eyes glazed. Yuuri can’t help leaning further forward and capturing those pinkish lips in a deep kiss. The hand in his hair pulls him closer and Yuuri gladly obeys, opening his mouth and slipping his tongue into Viktor’s. When his own eyes close the world consists exclusively of sensations.

A warm hand in his hair, another caressing his back and slowly sliding further down. The texture of Viktor’s lips, of his skin and hair. Heat pooling in his groin.

The throbbing in his cock grows more insistent, and when they break the kiss they both gasp for air. Yuuri’s cheeks are flushed; while two lone tears trail down Viktor’s cheek.

With a small smile Yuuri leans forward and licks them off. Viktor blinks, while Yuuri demonstratively licks his lips. “You taste delicious,” he declares, and Viktor’s pupils darken in response.

“Then let me taste you as well,” he whispers and a spark of excitement runs down Yuuri’s spine.

#0

“Well, at least I’ll look good in the wedding photos, then,” Viktor huffs playfully. But he can’t keep the facade long, not with Yuuri. “Though I doubt anybody will look more handsome than you, Yuuri.”

Warmth fills Yuuri’s chest, and a part of him cannot believe just how lucky he is.

But then the officiant inside finishes their speech and the moment has arrived. Yuuri gulps, looks to Victor, who brushes the last tears from his eyelashes. Everybody who looks at them closely can tell they’ve been crying - but it’s their wedding.

“You’re allowed to cry at a wedding, aren’t you?” Viktor whispers as they interlink their hands. Yuuri merely grins madly, because the doors are opening and the music starts.

Yuuri’s heart skips a beat. It doesn’t feel entirely real - like a dream. His head spins, and the ground underneath his feet doesn’t seem stable. But Viktor’s hand it warm against his; even as the rest of the hall swims into a blur of glittering lights, smiling faces, and flashing cameras.

#3 

In the weeks after Yuuri first moves to Russia, Viktor frequently takes him out. They go to his favorite restaurants, visit the Eremitage, the palaces. On occasion, Yurio, Mila, Otabek (who also moved), Georgi and his girlfriend come along, and they take ages to make their way through the bombastic buildings (which is due to the high frequency of selfies taken and autographs given). The internet loves it.

Yuuri feels whatever unconscious fears he may have harbored about the move slowly evaporate. Sharing a flat with Viktor certain brought about new challenges including laundry, dishes, and a high frequency of changing bedsheets. Between that and practice Yuuri drops into bed dead exhausted every night.

But his life has also never been so amazing. Certainly, practice is hard. Sometimes he wakes up with a hangover. Sometimes to an overenthusiastic Makkachin licking his face while Viktor films it. Sometimes he does miss his parents.

Then he and Viktor go on a road trip chasing northern lights along the Finnish border, nearly hit an elk, get drunk on the homebrew of an elderly lady whose dialect is so thick Viktor can’t make out what she is saying (the liquid is strong enough to make both of them cry). They see the Aurora Borealis and kiss, and somehow a picture ends up on Insta. The fact that not much of the spectacle is visible doesn’t stop the picture from gaining several thousand likes.  

Yakov yells at them both. Or rather, he yells at Viktor, and then frowns at Yuuri. “I expected better from you.”

And it would have stung a little if Mila hadn’t drifted by, muzzled Yuuri’s hair, and explained “he hoped you’d be a calming influence on Viktor.” Yakov had merely sighed and turned back to the rest of his no less rebellious squad (“No, Georgi, we’re not changing the music of your free program. Yes, I know she broke up with you, but really _We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together_ isn’t a good cho - Yuri, don’t do that!” “Watch me, old man!”).

“You and Otabek, you two are his favorites,” Mila adds with a wink, just before Lilia begins shouting at her from the other side of the rink.

Yuuri snorts quietly.  Maybe he does miss the quietude of his home rink at times. But right now he is enjoying this invigorating kind of mayhem very much. (And Yakov, having heard of his preference to practice alone sometimes, handed him a key for the rink with instructions to “just don’t let Viktor have it”. One day Yuuri will find out what that story is about, too).  

The weeks fly past, and before long the days start getting longer again, and the snowdrifts begin to shrink. March gives away to an unusually warm April. As has become their wont, Yuuri and Viktor go for a stroll after their last bout of practice ends - they have tomorrow off.

They are certainly not the only people on the Neva promenade, but before long Viktor’s stomach begins to growl audibly.

Yuuri chuckles. “Shall we head back?” It’s a bit - they could also just catch a taxi.

“Or let’s eat out?” Viktor suggests and points toward a fancy building on the other side of the river, not too far away. “That’s a very nice place.”

Yuuri can’t quite make out the details. “... isn’t that one of these places where you need a reservation?”

“Then let’s call them, shall we?” Viktor says and pulls out his phone. Yuuri shakes his head in silent exasperation - though he has to admit he feels a bit hungry himself. And eating out instead of cooking appears quite appealing.

As they cross the bridge (Viktor having easily acquired said reservation) Yuuri abruptly worries whether or not they are dressed appropriately. Surely, they’re not in sweatpants, but he knows some places don’t accept jeans and sneakers at all. But when they arrive it turns out that the place has no such rules.

“The University is nearby,” Viktor tells Yuuri as they follow the maître’d to a window side table. “A lot of the staff like to come here, and some students, too.” Yuuri casts an inconspicuous gaze around and finds the clientele is indeed rather varied. “I like the atmosphere.”

Yuuri thinks he might do so too.

And when he finds out the food is delicious to boot (even if the idea of combining udon noodles with salmon steak is rather curious) his decision is confirmed. The seats are comfortable, the wine is good, and he and Viktor talk, and talk, and talk.

Outside the daylight finally fades. They order another bottle of wine, giggling about not having to get up early tomorrow morning. Around them the restaurant begins to empty and time loses all meaning.

Until...

“No!” Viktor exclaims, eyes widening abruptly and he jumps up in his seat. Yuuri flinches back; several other patrons look toward them in confusion.

Viktor stares outside, visibly shocked. Unease curls in Yuuri’s stomach. “Viktor, what’s wrong?” he asks quietly.

He can only see the glittering lights of the city reflect on the quietly flowing Neva below. Quite a few ships sail on the water; and a few people stroll along the promenade. It’s a warm night for St Petersburg, though certainly cooler than Hasetsu in late April.

Viktor slaps a hand to his face and drops back down into his seat, laughing. Yuuri still doesn’t understand what the issue is, but perhaps it’s not so serious.

“I’ve lived in this city for all my life,” Viktor says and points along the river outside. “And to this day I’ve never been caught on the wrong side of the river.”

Yuuri blinks. Then his own jaw drops to form a surprised “oh” and he looks at the river again. Indeed, the blinking lights have changed position - the drawbridges have been pulled up. And he recalls one of the guidebooks he read before his move firmly warning him to make sure to not be on the wrong side - because the bridges are only lowered again in the early hours of the morning.

“Is it already that late?” he asks, still in shock.

Viktor’s shoulders shake with helpless laughter. “Obviously,” he giggles, and wipes at his eyes. “Really, after all this time. You’d think I’d have remembered that.” He hunches over in another fit of giggles that sends tears streaming down his face.

This time laughter bubbles up in Yuuri’s own chest. Because Viktor is right, this is stupid. Here they are, in this bright, glittery metropolis - caught twenty minutes from home, on the other side of the river. In addition, they’re also more than a little tipsy (Yuuri isn’t sure when exchanged his wineglass for the entire bottle. Viktor is actually crying with laughter, before he plants his face right onto the table).

“But really, Viktor,” Yuuri complains, cradling the bottle a little closer. “What do we do?” He thinks he could swim the distance. But his phone wouldn’t survive, and he doesn’t want to walk home in wet clothes. Now if only the river flowed the other way around they could build a raft and simply let the current carry them back…

Viktor beams at him, having given up on wiping the tears from his eyes. “Well, we could go and dance the night away. It’s the thing people do when they get stuck!”

Yuuri purses his lips. He’s nice and comfortable; he doesn’t feel like dancing. “I’m tired…” he mutters.

At that point a highly concerned waiter drifts over and politely inquires if he could call them a taxi. He was probably worried about tomorrow’s headlines featuring Russia’s living legend and the Japanese representative trying to swim across the Neva.

“But it’s on the other side,” Yuuri complains petulantly. “Or is it a water taxi?”

The waiter - with the patience of one probably used to handling less than sober customers - smiles. “There is another bridge further upstream that remains open. It will take a little longer, but you will get home.”

“What do you think, Yuuri?” Viktor asks, fishing for his wallet.

Yuuri nods. He finds he rather would like to crawl into his bed and sleep. Though he does still find the energy to twirl Viktor around to silent music as they stumble through the lobby of Viktor’s apartment building.

#0 

The hall is filled to the brim. Despite getting married so far from home, despite Yuuri’s imagined inability to maintain friendships, so many people have turned up. His family - and yes, maybe his more distant aunts and uncles showed up because they were curious - but so many others made the trip as well. Yuuko and Nishigori and their triplets. Minako. His sister who either got something in her eye or is actually crying. Phichit flew in all the way from Thailand, and so did Celestino.

Even if there’s no family for Viktor, the entire Russian skating squad turned up, with Yakov sitting in the front row, and Yurio with him, visibly torn between being happy on their behalf and maintaining his image of a moody teenager. Next to him Otabek, dressed to the nines, smiles. Mila brought Sara, who invited her brother and Emile, while Georgi has already started sobbing. Chris grins so wide his cheeks will hurt later, and a very charming man next to him smiles with genuine happiness for the couple walking down the aisle.  

And somehow, even though nobody is quite certain just how he got an invitation, JJ and his girlfriend are there, too. Both are crying quietly at the beauty of everything.

#4 

Yuuri slides into his final position. Holds it, gasps for air, while around him the applause rises. He thinks he did well; he landed his jumps, he missed no figure. His heart still races and his mind spins, even as he allows himself to shift out of the stiff pose and wave at the cheering audience.

He wishes Viktor was here to see it. But this tournament is too close to Viktor’s own competition.

So he dons a bittersweet smile as he picks up one of the plushies thrown his way. He’ll see Viktor soon enough.

“Yuuri! Yuuri!” a familiar voice shouts, and for a moment Yuuri’s brows narrow in confusion. That shouldn’t---

“Yuuri, that was fantastic! Amazing!”

Waving at him from the bannister with a wide smile is Viktor.

That idiot, Yuuri thinks, even as an incredulous smile stretches over his face. His legs pick up speed by themselves, and ahead Viktor opens his arms. Overhead the announcer comments with surprise as well; the press photographers go mad, but Yuuri can only laugh with perfect happiness as he flings himself into Viktor’s arms.

“That was gorgeous, Yuuri,” Viktor whispers into his ear, and Yuuri wraps his arms around him just a bit tighter.

“That was for you,” Yuuri whispers in reply and he can feel the warmth spread as blood rises to Viktor’s cheeks. He wishes they could stay like that forever - but somebody very decently waves with his blade protectors, and there are results to be announced.

Somehow they drift over to the kiss and cry, and when the scores are announced, Yuuri - already floating on cloud seven - realizes he has just won gold. Viktor throws his arms around him; Yuuri still stares at the screens in wide-eyed daze.

Gold.

“You did it,” Viktor whispers into his ear, cheerfully ignoring the fact that they are being shown on live television in several countries and all over the internet. “You got gold!”

Yuuri’s body burns with joy as he slides back onto the ice to accept his trophy. He can’t quite believe it; can’t believe he made it this far. To think he was talking about retiring just a few months ago! He directs a big smile at the audience and the cameras, and when he catches Viktor clapping from the other side of the bannister, a second idea comes to him.

They may not have talked about it since Barcelona, but Yuuri remembers Viktor’s words clearly. After all, his own ring still sits on his fingers, and its partner on Viktor’s.

So when the ceremony concludes and he skates back toward the exit, he lets the other skaters leave first. Viktor watches him with slight confusion, and Yuuri’s vibrates with excitement. Maybe it’s a bad idea, maybe it’s bad timing - the rational side of his mind tries to warn him, tries to stop him. But his heart and his gut have decided, and they are far less prone to anxiety than his brain is.

He slides towards Viktor and takes the gold medal from his neck. Dons a warm smile.

Drops to his knees.

Viktor’s eyes widen. Somebody gasps, but Yuuri ignores the world around them. He focuses on Viktor alone, on the hopeful, surprised glow in those blue eyes.

“Viktor Nikiforov,” Yuuri begins, and his voice may not carry all that well in the wide hall, but he only needs Viktor to hear him. “In Barcelona you said we would marry once I won gold. Here is my medal.”

He offers it demurely, and looks at Viktor whose eyes already gain a watery shine. His own heart trembles.

“Will you marry me?”

Viktor breaks into the most beatific smile Yuuri has ever seen and starts crying. “Of course,” he declares with tears streaming down his cheeks. “Of course, Yuuri.” And then he throws himself forward and they both end up sitting on the ice, embracing each other.

Somewhere in the background, cameras click and people cheer and clap, but Yuuri’s world has narrowed down to Viktor and himself. To feel the warmth of the familiar body in his arms; and having another pair wrapped around himself - he doesn’t think he has ever felt this happy.

He never wants to let go.

“I love you, Yuuri,” Viktor whispers into his ear, over and over again. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Yuuri returns, and they both laugh. Disentangle themselves a little, and Viktor wipes at his eyes.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Viktor adds, still smiling widely. “You are amazing, Yuuri."

Yuuri chuckles. “I can’t believe I did that, either,” he says, now that the euphoria in his blood begins to settle. He still feels as if he is floating, but now he can feel the cold from ice slowly soaking through his costume.

This, he thinks, as he and Viktor attempt to get up without letting go of each other, was probably the best decision in his entire life. And he doesn’t regret it, even when the reports barrage them with questions about the date, location, and decoration choices of the wedding.

His phone goes insane before he even has finished changing. But so does Viktor’s, who in a spur of the moment decision asks Yuuri to accompany him to his own competition. In the car to the airport, they take a call from Yurio - who yells at them first, and ends the tirade with a very quiet “My grandpa said to say congrats to you two. And from me as well. Congrats, I suppose”, at which point the camera swerves and Otabek waves and solemnly announces his own best wishes.

“Congratulations on your wedding and on breaking the internet,” Phichit texts and sends a number of links. Apparently they are trending on twitter, and a news clip of the proposal uploaded to YouTube already got 500k views. “You’ll let me live tweet the wedding, won’t you?” Phichit asks.  

Yuuri’s parents tearfully express their feelings (“We’re so happy for you; I know how much Viktor means to you, and how long you were pining - “Mom!” “- yes, yes, but such a nice young man! Ah, hello Viktor, you two take good care of each other, do you hear me?”). His sister grumbles about “now they’ll start asking me, won’t they?”, but then switches over to planning the wedding (“you should totally marry in a castle!”).

They both laugh, but look at each other, and despite still not quite believing it, Yuuri nods at Viktor. “I guess we really need to start thinking about a date and a location.”

 #0

And today they are here, kissing after having spoken their wedding vows.

They’re married. Officially married.

Cameras flash, everybody claps and cheers, and Phichit probably breaks the internet. The bustle nearly drowns out the music; especially once everybody starts yelling congratulations and the congregation goes wild.

Yuuri looks at Viktor and laughs. The chaos behind him and the love of his life before him, and his heart bursting with happiness. He feels his own eyes burn.

“Yuuri,” Viktor whispers, eyes widening, even as the officiant tries to calm the congregation, but the party has more or less started already. “Don’t cry!”

Yuuri feels a sob rising in his throat. He lifts his hand in a weak attempt to wipe the water from his eyes. “It’s my wedding,” he declares in protest. “I’m allowed to cry.”

Viktor snorts, and then Yuuri realizes that there are tears in his eyes as well, and he can’t stop himself from laughing. And crying. At the same time. His chest seems to burst from joy, and he just can’t look away from Viktor.

That is until Mari appears. “We need photos! Get yourselves together!”

With generous support from Mila, Minako and Georgi they even manage to get decent (or, to be honest, amazing. Yuuri knows he’s going to put them up in their flat) photos. The photos taken during the party, well.

Some of those could be considered decent. Others…

Phichit shares his selection of personal favorites on social media anyway. And Yuuri is rather glad he and Viktor will disappear onto a remote Pacific island for a honeymoon for the next week.

_Fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Will we get a wedding in season 2? I hope so!


End file.
